


Sugar Crash

by Neyiea



Series: home is where you are [3]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8829571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: In an effort to be a little more healthy Robbie makes a decision to change one small thing about his diet, and since he's almost certain that he'll be in a terrible mood as his body adjusts to the change he figures he'll just seclude himself away for a couple of days. 
Besides, what's the worst that could happen?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into English available: [[Podfic] Sugar Crash](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394385) by [swagnushammersmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagnushammersmith/pseuds/swagnushammersmith)



> I love these guys so much, gosh. Sportarobbie is just so fun to write, this fandom is too good for this world.

Robbie wouldn’t say that dating Sportacus makes him want to change who he is, oh no, but now and again he is occasionally filled with the desire to better himself in some small way, aware that his current lifestyle really isn’t the greatest. He sort of wants to become more independently healthy. He eats dinner with Sportacus and Stephanie more often than not, even slips money into places like the cutlery bin or an egg carton because he wants to help pay for groceries but whenever he outright offers Sportacus money the other man always insists that it’s not necessary, and he’s starting to notice that he feels more energetic and his mood levels have stabilized a lot since he’s started to eat a little bit better.

He still eats a lot of take out when he’s on his own though. And really, he’s better at baking and he’s not that great of a cook, so he can only imagine that trying to replicate some of Sportacus’s recipes by himself would only end in an inedible disaster.

He needs to do something simple that has the potential to make a big impact. Something that will get him results so that maybe later on he can muster up the courage and motivation to try something else such as possibly, he balks a bit, exercising on purpose. He opens his fridge for ideas, pursing his lips a little at the sight.

The thing that really stands out to him is the several bottles of pop that he has lined up next to the pizza box that holds the remnants of yesterday’s lunch.

What if he just cuts soda out of his diet? 

It should be easy enough, he reasons. It’s just one little thing that he’d be taking away, even if he usually has two glasses a day, sometimes three if he finds himself feeling sluggish and needs a pick-me-up. It’s not like he’ll be getting rid of his morning coffee, which he now sweetens with a mix of half stevia and half sugar because he still doesn’t feel fully accustomed to the taste of sweeteners. He’ll still have a source of caffeine and sugar, it’ll just be a lot less than his body is accustomed to.

He might need a couple of days to get used to it. Sportacus sometimes mentions what he calls a ‘sugar addiction’, and Robbie can see how he might be extra grouchy while he lets himself get used to not having something that he’s had every day for years.

And if he’s going to be extra grouchy, well, it’ll be better for him to be alone.

It’s not as if being by himself for a few days will be too bad, he reasons as he enthusiastically pours each bottle of pop down his kitchen sink, he’d been reclusive for years and it’s only very recently that he’s become social at all.

He walks up to apartment 201 with a spring in his step, sure that everything will go exactly as planned. Now he just has to come up with some sort of excuse as to why he needs some time to himself, and that isn’t particularly difficult at all.

He waits until after dinner to announce that he has a big project coming up. 

“I don’t have a lot of time to complete it, so if I happen to disappear off the radar for two or three days don’t panic.”

Sportacus gives him a startled look. Stephanie frowns and leans a bit closer to him.

“You won’t even have the time to come up and have dinner with us?”

Oh, now Robbie feels guilty. But this is for the greater good! It’s better for him to stay secluded as his body takes a few days to get used to the change. He doesn’t want to be a complete jerk to Sportacus or Stephanie, doesn’t want to do something or say something that will make them stop liking him.

“It’s just for a few days,” he says, hoping that he sounds reassuring. “This happens occasionally when you take on freelance jobs. Sometimes other companies aren’t able to do the work they said they would, so when a contract is worked out with someone else the deadline is much tighter.”

“That’s not fair at all!” 

Robbie shrugs. “These things just happen.” He’s pulled a respectable amount of all-nighters to get last minute jobs on track. “Think of it as doing a week’s worth of work in three days. I only work three days, but I get paid for the whole week plus a little bonus for a job well done.”

“Are you just going to end up eating take-out in front of your computer for every meal?” Stephanie looks pleadingly at her father, as if he can say something that will change Robbie’s mind. 

Sportacus glances between the two of them awkwardly. “Well, we can’t force Robbie to eat with us all the time Stephanie, and it’s important that he’s able to finish his project on time. He has responsibilities to the people that he’s doing work for, and it wouldn’t be good for him to miss a deadline.”

Stephanie crosses her arms and sinks down in her chair. This time when Sportacus turns to look at Robbie his eyes have a determined gleam in them. 

“Still, how about we make extras and bring it down to you? You don’t have to eat with us, but I think we’d both feel a bit better knowing that you actually were eating.”

Robbie wants to say something like ‘that sounds great’ or even, terrifyingly, ‘I love you’, but he needs to cut off face-to-face contact completely, he can’t let himself be seen if he’s going to be in a mood to snap and snarl at anything that moves.

“I’ll be alright, but thank you.”

He desperately tries to ignore the concerned, somewhat sad looks that Sportacus and Stephanie send his way. This will all be worth it in the end. When he shows up at their doorstep in a few days, eagerly proclaiming that he no longer drinks pop, they’ll be so proud of him, so pleased that he took the initiative to do it all on his own, so happy that he was starting to look after himself a little more.

Just a few days by himself, and then everything will be fine.

The first morning isn’t any different from the one before. He has his morning coffee, contemplates why he hadn’t done this sooner, and spends a couple hours working on a project that he’s already on track to finish days early.

He feels sluggish as the day goes on though, and almost caves in to the idea of making himself another coffee, but no, he has to stay strong, there’s no point in doing this if he’s just going to substitute the pop for something else that isn’t exactly healthy for him. He has a fitful sleep that night, and wakes up on the second day feeling drawn out, tired, and irritable for no real reason. He can’t focus on his project, probably only puts a half an hour of real work in on it even though he sits at the computer for hours, but he doesn’t feel up to anything he would usually consider relaxing, such as watching countless infomercials, because he feels too on edge to enjoy it. 

He orders delivery, not at all in the mood to step into the sunlight to get his own take-out when he can feel the beginnings of a headache forming, and he can barely be cordial with the delivery man for long enough to fork the money over and snatch the food from the poor man’s hands. In the back of his mind, when he’s not thinking about how terrible he feels, he reminds himself that it’s good that he’s alone right now, it’s good that he’s not letting anyone he cares about see this nasty side of him.

He texts Sportacus several times a day, because he needs at least one line of communication to remain open between them and at least with texting no one has to hear how ragged his voice sounds, or see how tired he looks, and he’s able to fully think over messages before sending them, can re-read them several times to make sure he doesn’t say anything that could be interpreted as rude.

‘I should be done soon,’ he texts on the third day, even though the light from the phone makes his eyes strain. He hasn’t bothered getting out of bed, even though it’s well past noon and lately he’s been a lot better at actually getting up at a time that can be considered morning. ‘I’m sorry I’m taking so long. I’ll make it up to you.’

Sportacus texts back that there’s no need for that, and wishes him luck with his work.

Robbie pulls a pillow over his eyes, trying to block out as much light as he possibly can-- he really ought to invest in blackout curtains-- and attempts to nap without much success. At first he thinks the pounding in his head is just getting louder, but then he starts to realize that the sound doesn’t match up with the steady thrum of agony that has been getting stronger ever since he pulled out his phone.

Someone’s knocking at his door, and he knows it’s not going to be a delivery guy.

They know he’s home. He has to at least answer the door. He can do this.

He drags himself out of bed, the pain in his temples so sharp that he almost begins to feel nauseous from it, and somehow manages to get to his door and open it without a dizzy-spell overcoming him.

Stephanie smiles up at him, cradling her math book in her arms. 

“Hi Robbie. I know you told dad you’re still busy but it’s been three days since I’ve seen you and—“ she pauses abruptly, looking him up and down like she expects a stiff breeze would push him over. Which it probably would, in his current state. “Is everything okay?” 

“Stephanie,” he croaks, “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling very well today. I’ll help you with your homework some other time, but please, I really don’t think I can right now.”

“Do you need me to get you anything?” 

“No, thank you, I just need to rest. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Doubt crosses over her face, but she doesn’t make any protests. “I hope you feel better soon.”

He does too.

He goes to the bathroom, splashes frigid water onto his face, and rummages through his medicine cabinet for some painkillers before he goes back to bed. But even the dark, quiet, comforting environment of his room isn’t helping him anymore. His head is pounding with every beat of his heart, and he’s not sure how much longer he can take it.

He wonders if this is what a migraine is supposed to feel like.

Minutes or hours later, his sense of time is so skewed right now that he wouldn’t be able to tell noon from midnight, he hears the faint sound of footsteps slowly becoming louder.

Sportacus, of course. Robbie had given him a spare key, and there was no way that Stephanie wouldn’t tell her dad about the state she’d seen Robbie in.

His bedroom door swings open.

“Robbie?”

“Please, for the love of everything, don’t turn on the lights,” he groans. He pushes his hands against his forehead, trying to soothe the ache and willing the medication to work faster.

“Robbie, are you alright?” Sportacus lowers his voice to whisper as he walks closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Do you need me to take you to a walk-in clinic?”

“No. Apparently this is somewhat normal.” He probably should have done more research before deciding to stop cold-turkey, should have slowly weaned himself off of pop so that his system could get used to it without going into withdrawal.

“Normal? What part of this is normal?” His voice rises, though he quiets back down when Robbie makes a pained noise. “Are you—are you sick? Is this a side effect of a medication, or a treatment, and you just didn’t want to tell us that you’ve been ill?”

Sportacus sounds so worried. The jig is up, there’s no way Robbie can let him keep thinking that he’s got some sort of chronic illness or whatever conclusions it is he’s jumping to.

“I just wanted to do this on my own, I wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise—what are you talking about?” Sportacus very gently takes Robbie’s hands in his own and pulls them away from his face so that they can actually look at each other. He rubs his thumbs in calming circles against Robbie’s knuckles and patiently waits for Robbie to say something.

“I stopped drinking soda. And now life is hell.” It may sound dramatic, but it was the absolute truth. 

“Stopped drinking soda?”

“Yes. It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Robbie admits through gritted teeth, “now though? Not so much.” He focuses on the soothing motion of Sportacus’s thumbs, and decides he may as well come clean entirely. “I didn’t have a big project to do, I just figured it might take a couple of days for my system to adjust. I thought I’d be cranky and didn’t want to lash out at you if my temperament wasn’t good, but this is worse than I anticipated.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, I just took some painkillers for my headache.”

Sportacus hums lowly. “Have you been drinking enough water? You might be dehydrated.”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll grab you a glass, I’ll be right back.” He gives Robbie’s hands a reassuring squeeze before quietly making his way out of the bedroom, returning not even a minute later with two glasses of water, handing one to him right away and setting the other on the bedside table.

He watches Robbie drink the first glass, gently taking it out of his hands when he’s done. “I’m going to let you rest for a bit. Remember to drink more water when you wake up, okay?”

Robbie nods, settling back down on his pillows.

“Is it okay if I come check up on you later tonight?” Sportacus sounds unsure when he asks, and Robbie’s heart twinges just as painfully as his head.

“Of course.” He tenses. “I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t want--” He pauses when Sportacus presses a finger to his lips.

“It’s okay Robbie, I understand. I’ll come down to check up on you in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Okay.”

Sportacus leans forward to press a soft kiss to Robbie’s forehead, Robbie feels himself relax a little at the contact, and Sportacus whispers another goodbye before leaving the room.

Robbie closes his eyes and inwardly prays that he’ll be able to get some rest instead of just laying awake, in pain. Eventually the medicine begins to work, soothes the worst of the ache, and he’s finally able to fall asleep.

When he does wake up it’s in stages. First he becomes aware of the faint ache in his temples; bearable, but still present. Then he notices how dry his mouth is. Then he tries to shift and realizes that he’s been sleeping on his arm, and the pins and needles feeling that spreads up the limb when he moves it wakes him up the rest of the way.

It’s only after that that he realizes the reason he woke up at all was a voice softly calling his name.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Better,” he croaks, although he doesn’t sound better at all. If anything he sounds worse. He can hardly see the outline of Sportacus in the inky darkness of his room.

“I came down earlier but you were in such a deep sleep I didn’t want to wake you.”

Robbie carefully grabs the glass of water that Sportacus had previously left for him and downs it in three swallows. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. Would it be okay if I turned on a light?” 

“Not the main lights. I’ll get the one on my table.” Robbie fumbles for a second before clicking the switch and a thankfully dim yellow light fills up the room.

Sportacus, clad in a pair of pyjama pants and a worn t-shirt, sits down on the edge of the bed again, his eyebrows furrowed with worry and his lips pressed in an uncharacteristically straight line.

“Do you need any more medicine?”

“No, I think the worst of it is over.”

Sportacus nods slowly, then reaches out to hold Robbie’s hands, just as he had done hours before.

“Robbie… I realize that you were trying to keep Stephanie and I from seeing you during a difficult time, but you didn’t have to go through this alone. You know that, right? We’re in a relationship, I _want_ to be there for you if you’re ever in trouble.”

“I know.” He casts his eyes down, not quite feeling up to meeting Sportacus’s earnest gaze. “I just thought it would be nice if I took initiative to be a little healthier on my own, but I should have told you what was actually going on, I didn’t mean for you to worry.”

“We were worrying about you even before Stephanie came down and saw that you looked like, and I quote, a zombie. You’re kind of important to us Robbie,” his gaze goes fond, and he presses a kiss to the back of each of Robbie’s hands, “it’s natural for us to worry about you.”

Robbie risks a glance up, and Sportacus darts in to press a kiss to his nose.

“And I _am_ very proud of you for taking such a big step. Habits like this are really hard to break, and they don’t call it a ‘sugar addiction’ just to make it seem more dramatic than it actually is. Just by doing this one thing you’ve cut a lot of refined sugar out of your diet and your body is so used to it that it’s taking time to adjust. It must have been very difficult for you to deal with this alone over the past few days, but you don’t have to be alone any more.”

“Okay.” Robbie leans forward, resting his face in the crook of Sportacus’s neck. “So, I looked like a zombie, huh?”

“That’s what Stephanie told me, and I must admit that when I came in to check up on you that her description did not seem too far off.”

“Did you let her know I was okay?”

“Of course I did.” Sportacus lets go of Robbie’s hands so that he can wrap his arms loosely around him. “Once you’re feeling back to your usual self she might come down to demand an explanation from you.”

“I’ll try to prepare myself for that, then.” Robbie leans back for just long enough to slot their lips together, then ducks his hot face back into the crook of Sportacus’s neck while Sportacus tightens his arm around him. “You should go to bed, I know you never stay up past nine thirty, you must be exhausted.”

Sportacus laughs, drags a hand up Robbie’s spine and into the short hair at the back of his head. “Staying up for an extra hour or so isn’t bad, as long as I don’t make a habit of it.”

“Did you want to… Never mind.”

“Robbie.” Sportacus is the one to lean back now, raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to stay here tonight. I’ve missed you.”

The corners of Sportacus’s eyes crinkle in the way that means he’s really, genuinely smiling, and Robbie feels like he’s doing something right for the first time today.

“Would you like me to stay? My internal clock will probably wake me up just after five out of habit, I might disturb you as I go out for my run.”

“I’ll essentially have been in bed for over twenty four hours by then,” Robbie tells him dryly. “I might end up being the one waking you at some god-awful time before the sun rises.”

“I suppose we’ll see about that. Would you like me to get you anything before we go to sleep?”

“Maybe some more water?”

Sportacus nods dutifully and takes the empty glass back to the kitchen for a refill. Robbie sips at it, setting the half empty glass down on his bedside table as Sportacus slips into the bed beside him. Robbie shuts off the light and curls into the other man’s warmth, sighing happily when Sportacus wraps an arm around him and presses another kiss to his forehead.

Tomorrow would be a brand new day, and he might still feel a little sluggish and cranky, but he wouldn’t have to go through it without help.

“I love you,” he whispers in the dark. Sportacus’s arm tightens around him at the declaration, pulling Robbie in closer until there was no space left between them.

“I love you too.”


End file.
